“Oh, come on, don’t be a baby!” I laugh.
It was the season of clouds, of rain, of thunder, and of course, of love. We had been married for two years, and though countless monsoons had passed since, I still had to plead with you to step outside with me to get drenched in the downpour. You always hated the aftermath of rain. The damp clothes, the muddy shoes, and the sniffles that followed. But no matter how many times you rolled your eyes, my stubborn, rain-soaked heart refused to listen. I never stopped believing that somewhere inside you, the storm soothed you too, even if you would never admit it.
As always, you stood rooted in place, adamant, while I pushed, coaxed, teased, and finally unleashed the one weapon you could never resist: tickles. “Cheater,” you tried to protest through your laughter, but by then it was too late, I had already pulled you out into the rain.
Your first reaction was always the same: a resigned sigh, followed by, “Ah! take this.” You handed me your phone, tucked neatly in the left pocket you always reserved for calls and meetings, and then the pocket watch I’d gifted you the first time we met in Bangalore. God, how we’d counted down to that day like crazy, desperate for just a glance at each other’s faces, just one touch.
Now, standing there, I watched you close your eyes. I could almost hear the low sound that escaped your throat, well, half a moan, half a sigh as you tilted your head back, soaking in the rain, the thunder, and the pure untamed sky. I saw it, I saw the quiet smile you thought I’d miss, the blush that betrayed how much you loved being caught like this.
“I saw that,” I teased.
“You!!,” You growled, pretending to be angry.
“Yes?” I smirked, utterly pleased as I slipped my arms around your neck.
You leaned into me then, and our lips met. The rain, instead of quenching, only fed the fire between us. It was as if water itself decided to play the role of flame, igniting us, pulling us closer, reminding us that love, like storms, could not be restrained. Around us, the sky roared, and we answered with our own.
And in that exact moment, wrapped in your arms under heaven’s downpour, I caught myself wondering, not for the first time, and certainly not the last:
How could anybody be so endlessly, achingly lovable?
Leave a Reply